


Be Still

by MoonySmith



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Greg's angry at the world, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, POV Greg, Panic Attacks, References to Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, but Sherlock tries to be a good fried, or more...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 10:39:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17938238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonySmith/pseuds/MoonySmith
Summary: Sherlock is back from the dead but it's not a hallucination.





	Be Still

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first attempting writing something in English. I love this pairing and I had this story written from a long time ago in my drafts but finally thought of taking the risk at last in the Sherstrade month!  
> If you see any grammar mistake please let me know, that would help me a lot!

Lestrade and Sally were going back to Scotland Yard parking lot. The woman allowed Greg to be the driver this time since she was too tired to do it on her own. And well, Greg couldn’t blame her.

It had been a long day for them and his team for the case they were currently working. They had to look for tons and tons of evidence among some videos and after that go to the house of the main suspect to check their clues. But finally, they had made it and had enough evidence against the killer to lock him behind the bars for the rest of his life. Despite the satisfaction of just closing a case, Greg felt too tired himself. And maybe that was the reason why he didn’t even flinch or get surprised when he saw the figure of Sherlock Holmes with his hands hidden inside the pockets of his coat, standing in front of the car.

“Oh, my God,” he heard Sally exclaim by his side but he didn’t pay it too much attention, the sooner they get into the building and finished the paperwork, the better. He didn’t stop the car even when he felt the hand of a surprised Sally grabbing his arm. “Greg!”

Lestrade finally stopped abruptly and looked at the woman, clueless.

“What?” he asked confused. He thought she wanted to return there as much as he did.

“Aren’t you seeing him?” she replied instead, pointing with a finger in front of the car, where Sherlock was still standing, now matching Sally’s worried expression on his face.

“Wait,” Greg tilted his head to one side and turned to look at her, “you can _see_ him too?”

“Oh my God, Greg,” she said worriedly, now covering her mouth with one hand. “You’re not getting any better.”

He was about to ask her what she meant by that, but then he turned his head to find the same man still standing in the exact same spot, staring at him. Lestrade felt his vision starting to blur and had to close his eyes when everything around him began to spin.

_What was happening?_

“Greg,” Sally’s voice tried to bring him back, but Lestrade was too much into the depths of his thoughts to react at that moment. He couldn’t open his eyes now. Everything felt wrong. “Greg, you need to calm your breathing, please.

Was there something wrong with his breathing? He couldn’t tell anymore. Greg didn’t know what was happening, but then he heard another voice and everything just ended up getting worse.

The voices began to move away quickly to the point where all of the noises that surrounded Greg was a sharp and annoying sound in his ears. Lestrade felt as if all the air inside his lungs just left him and couldn’t inhale it through the nose anymore so instinctively he began gasping to get it through his mouth. He squeezed hard the wheel.

_What kind of joke was it?_

As much as the docked voices around urged him to breathe, Greg felt unable to obey or do what they were asking for.

Somehow he managed to hear the door beside him open and a pair of frozen hands on each side of his head.

“Lestrade, look at me,” the voice demanded, and Lestrade noticed for the first time that his body was trembling. “Come on, Lestrade. Please, look into my eyes and breathe with me.”

Slowly, Greg began to do what he was told, the first step was to open his eyes, although he closed them immediately and began to shake his head when he saw that man was there. But then the hands on his sides stopped him and reassure him until he dared to open them again, finding himself with those bright eyes that he never thought would be able to see again.

“You…” he tried to say but noticed that his breathing wasn’t controlled enough to find his voice yet.

“Lestrade, breathe with me,” he insisted, and since everything started, Greg finally began to feel like he was capable of obeying. Once he calmed his breathing, the next thing was to be helped to get up and out of the car. “Come on, the car can’t be here at the entrance for the rest of the night.”

Greg didn’t say anything but stepped aside, wondering again what was going on there.

When he turned on his heels, he realized that Sally was no longer there, so he frowned when he saw Sherlock alone and staring at him. Although before daring to speak again, Greg pulled out of his pockets the box of cigarettes to take one between his lips while now was looking for the lighter inside of his coat.

“Those things will kill you,” Sherlock said, his deep voice echoing in Greg’s head.

Only listening to him was making his blood boil inside his veins and trying to delete all the tranquility he just got gathered.

“Fuck off!” He snapped angrily, pointing at him with a finger.”

Because if it was true, if those things were going to kill him, he was too upset to think that they hadn’t done it before.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Okay, I’m _sorry_ ,” he said quickly and without sounding like he really meant it. “Now, can you get inside of the car again?” he asked, nodding toward the passenger seat. “Donovan allowed me to take you home since she doesn’t think it’s a good idea for you to go back to work for today.”

Greg mumbled some cursing under his breath and put the cigarette back into his pack as he walked to the car where the open door was being offered.

He settled himself in his seat while the man next to him did the same and after a matter of no time, they were back on the road. It wasn’t until after a few minutes that Sherlock spoke, “I don’t know where you live now.”

Greg snorted. “Of course you don’t.”

He had been living in the same place for at least three years now and the bloody man had never bothered to find it out before.

 _Because he didn’t need you then_ , he thought.

He gave him the address in a bad mood and settled himself in the seat again, crossing his arms for one moment before he couldn’t help it anymore and moved his hands up to his mouth while he was sitting there, touching his lips with the tip of his fingers and biting for a while his nails anxiously. He was aware that Sherlock was looking at him from time to time meanwhile he was driving and that wasn’t helping with his nerves. He had too many questions inside his head but was too scared he’d suffer another episode inside the car. He wished to be in his flat soon and collapse onto his bed.

Really, Sherlock could go to hell for a moment or two.

Greg leaned his head against the window, allowing his vision to focus on the streets, cars, and the people; even in the lights. That would calm him down for now. He had also noticed that Sherlock turned on the heating, so he thanked him mentally for the gesture. Maybe he was still shaking and had not noticed it?

He was too focused on the wheels of a car parked on the sidewalk to realize that his own car was no longer moving. He turned his head abruptly to see what was happening with the driver.

Sherlock was looking at him with a strange expression on his face and his eyes shone more than usual.

 _If I didn’t know him,_ he thought, _I’d say he was on the verge of tears or something_.

But Greg knew him, or at least he wanted to believe he did, that’s why this surprised him.

“What—” Then he realized that Sherlock’s stare wasn’t exactly on his face so he tried to follow it. “ _Shit_ ,” he murmured when he noticed it, feeling his cheeks getting warmer. He was too much stupid and distracted to let the sleeve of his jacket go down, at least enough to show the beginning and a little more of the long scar on his arm. He adjusted the sleeve to the level of his wrist again and closed his eyes.

 _Please, no_ , he thought. _Not now. I can’t do this now._

_Or ever._

“When did you…? You…” Sherlock was trying to ask or speak, his voice had trembled but worry had been clear in it.

Greg shook his head, now covering his tired face with his hands. “Not now, please,” he whispered sheepishly. “Just take me home.”

They arrived in a matter of minutes. The rest of the way was completely silent and Greg thanked mentally that Sherlock had stopped giving him the previous looks.

He could feel all the fatigue accumulated during that afternoon on his body when he entered the flat. He stood aside to let Sherlock in and collapsed on his couch once he closed the door behind him and turned the lights on. For as long as he cared, Sherlock could do whatever the hell he wanted in that place, as long as he left Greg alone.

“You probably need to drink something hot,” he said suddenly. “Do you want tea? Do you even have tea?” he asked, and Greg could feel now the nervousness in his voice.

He nodded and then pointed at the places where everything was. They continued in silence until Sherlock left a cup of tea in front of him on the coffee table. Greg ignored it for a moment.

He knew that after the tea, Sherlock would start with his questions. And it wasn’t fair, he thought, because he had the same right to ask the questions he had in his mind as Sherlock did. But he also had to admit to himself that he felt too tired to start with it right now.

But he did need the tea to warm him up, he reminded himself. Maybe the sooner Sherlock finished with his questions, the sooner he could go to sleep in his room.

Lestrade ran a hand over his face after leaving the empty cup back on the table and saw Sherlock begin to walk in circles through the room. He buried his face in his hands and let out a sigh. He could only wait.

“Why…?” Sherlock began to speak after a few minutes, but stopped. “When did that happen?”

Greg sighed once more before removing the hands from his face and trying to look at the other man, but right there it felt too much and he didn’t feel too strong to do it so he ducked his head again. “I don’t know, a year ago?” He focused his gaze on his hands in his lap.

“Why…?” Sherlock tried again, but stopped once more, and Greg really appreciated it. “Did anyone know? Someone from… the group, I mean.

He shook his head and mocked at him inside his head.

“I don’t know, Sherlock.” He shrugged. “Maybe only some co-workers knew about it; my team. I really don’t know.”

“But… you should have been away for some time, how is it that they didn’t…?”

“Sherlock,” Greg finally dared to look at him; his hair was more messy than usual, possibly because he had carried his hands through it while he was pacing around. Greg’s voice was bitterer when he continued, “we were not exactly a group of friends once you disappeared, you know? We don’t meet once a week to share our sorrows or whatever. After some time I stopped seeing them, all right?

But Sherlock’s appearance showed that nothing was all right. Holding his hands up while he was trying to understand the situation. “But Mycroft--"

“Christ, I haven’t seen your brother in more than two years, Sherlock.”

Sherlock growled and raised his eyebrows.

“I told him… I _asked_ him to take care of all of you while I was away. He had to do that.”

Lestrade looked at him a little surprised with this new knowledge but then rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t his fault, okay? It wasn’t anyone’s fault… Only…” _Mine_ , he thought with sorrow, for not being able to do anything right, not even ending with his own bloody life.

“Why didn’t you talk to someone?”

“Sherlock…”

“Molly Hooper! You two got along, why didn’t you talk to her?” The look of confusion and despair on Sherlock’s face made Greg’s stomach twitch.

“Sherlock, drop it, will you?”

“But she _knew_ ,” Sherlock stopped moving completely, staring at down at him. “She knew I wasn’t dead, if she had known you felt guilty, that… _that_ had not even happened in the first place.” He finished speaking and pointed at Greg’s arms. _Molly knew_ , he repeated in his head. That made so much sense now, but he had stopped seeing the young woman as often as he used to do, even at work.

“I didn’t do it only because of you,” he burst out and dared to lie to him. Because of course it had been for him, the guilt was eating him from the inside. But it was also true that everything around Greg had been crumbling to pieces too and he had felt so much pressure to want to continue with the rest of his life.

“Why did you do it, then?” Sherlock asked exasperatedly.

“Why did _you_ do it?”

“For you! For you and for the others. I had no choice.”

Lestrade offered him a look before lowering his head. He felt like there was something else he should know behind what Sherlock had just said, but this wasn’t the moment.

“Just forget it, will you? It’s over. I’m still here,” he added in a shrug.

“It’s over?” he repeated, “Lestrade, you were too sure you were having another hallucination while you were driving and acted as if it was normal.”

Greg rolled his eyes and put a hand to his forehead to cover himself. Why couldn’t Sherlock just leave him alone?

“You’ve been going to therapy,” he spoke again, this wasn’t a question but Greg nodded anyway. He felt the other man’s footsteps approaching and he tensed. “But you haven’t talked to them about the hallucinations.”

“No, I haven’t,” he answered and shook his head.

“Why?” The softness in his voice made Greg look up, surprised, he found Sherlock kneeling in front of him.

“I dunno,” he shrugged.

“Lestrade,” the other man warned, this time taking his hands into his.

Greg frowned but left his gaze on those pale hands. “I missed you,” he murmured and Sherlock tightened the grip a little more. “If I told her about the hallucinations… I was afraid I would stop seeing you and… it was all I had about you.” The pain in his chest returned and the fact that he dared to confess this to someone else, _to him_ , it just intensified it even more.

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock whispered, staring at him.

“It’s okay now, Sherlock,” he tried to smile at him and calm him, but the expression of concern on the other’s face didn’t fade. “What happened to your face, anyway?”

“Oh,” Sherlock released his hands and stood up, ironing his suit under his coat with his hands on the way. “John. The news of my return didn’t seem to make him too happy.”

“What? Did John hit you?” Greg asked in confusion.

Sherlock nodded but waved his hand to dismiss it. “It was nothing, really. I have received worse.”

But that didn’t calm Greg.

“Why would he react like that?” he asked out loud. John had also suffered from Sherlock’s death. It was something that everyone could notice, it didn’t make sense that he wasn’t happy with his return.

Sherlock shrugged and then they were silent for another moment. Greg wasn’t calm thinking about what would have provoked the doctor to do that, but couldn’t continue thinking about it while he felt that all he wanted now was to go to sleep. After a moment he covered his face again with his hands. He wondered now when it would be that Sherlock would decide to leave. He still had some questions in his head about his fake death, but he hoped that the younger man would agree to answer them in another time.

“Do you remember what we used to do when I had a _bad_ day?” Sherlock spoke suddenly, but sounding slightly moved.

“You used to come to my place and complain about the stupidity of the world, I… I drank tea and waited for you to calm down?” he smiled but Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“How did you calm me down, Lestrade?”

Greg narrowed his eyes, thinking.

“I don’t know. I would offer you a bath and another cuppa if you had broken the first one?”

Sherlock seemed to consider it a bit but nodded.

“You had a stressful day, Lestrade. You need a bath,” he advised him and then added, sounding more excited now, “maybe later I can help you with the case of the body you found in Hyde Park yesterday.”

But Lestrade grimaced. “I don’t think that last one can be possible,” he murmured and Sherlock lowered his head a little.

“Right…”

“I mean, _now_. I’m not sure. Things… it didn’t end well before and… I don’t know if I can do it.” For some reason, Greg tried not to sound too negative about it. Maybe it was the expression on the other man’s face, but Greg never wanted to disappoint Sherlock Holmes. “Anyway… I didn’t bring the files with me. It’s not that I don’t want you to get involve…”

Sherlock kept his head down for a moment longer before he spoke again, “Please tell me you do have a bathtub,” he said, sounding slightly annoyed.

Lestrade couldn’t help but snort and nod, telling him where the bathroom was.

“And you’re taking medication,” he said again, it wasn’t a question. “Take care of that while a get everything settled.”

Lestrade nodded.

The truth was, it felt good to have someone who cared about those needs at that time. He was usually alone. After the _incident_ , his sister had gone to stay a few weeks with him and was responsible for assisting him whenever he needed something or, to remind him to take the medications in time. Honestly, at that moment Greg was too upset with the world and had not known how to appreciate the help of her sister to the point of getting the poor woman out of his house earlier than planned. But who could blame him? Anyway, the last thing he wanted to be was a nuisance for someone else. Now he felt different. It even seemed like Sherlock was really worried about him.

He returned to sit on the couch when he took the medicine of the night and waited.

Sherlock reappeared not long after that, he had taken off his coat and suit jacket, with the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to the elbows. He asked him to go to the bathroom with him and Greg accompanied him without hesitation.

“Will you join me?” Lestrade asked after Sherlock re-entered in the bathroom after going to leave Greg’s coat, jacket and scarf in the main room.

He looked at him surprised. “Of course,” he agreed and went to Greg to help him to remove his shirt and trousers; the shoes had been left on the floor of the room on the way.

Greg couldn’t remember the last time he had seen Sherlock naked, but he did remember that he always felt pity for him whenever he saw he was too thin when he stayed at his place, but then he also remembered in what situation Sherlock usually arrived there; when he needed to go through a withdrawal, he was too irritable for any other person to be able to cope. Greg didn’t know why Sherlock always ended up turning into his house when he had his brother with enough money to get him in some proper place. But while he was available, Greg felt that he always should help that man.

Over the years Sherlock clearly got better, and of course, when he had stopped using drugs, his visits stopped too and the only times Greg saw him was when he showed up without being called in some crime scenes, although it wasn’t too long after Sherlock remained sober that the same DCI accepted he needed help from a sharper look like his. That’s how they had started working together.

Lestrade really was glad John appeared in the younger’s life. Suddenly he was no longer alone and Greg even noticed that he had gained some weight and that was a great achievement for him. But that night, in front of him, Sherlock was not as healthy as he remembered, he was too thin and Greg didn’t want to look too much to not bother him, but he had noticed some red lines on his chest and others at the level of his ribs. “What happened here?” he asked, touching the skin gently in front of him, avoiding of course, touching an open wound.

Sherlock didn’t move away but he didn’t seem too comfortable with the touch.

“I don’t want to talk about that,” he whispered and tried to rush Greg to get into the large bathtub, but the DCI was taking none of it, he turned and looked at him with a raised eyebrow, Sherlock had forced him to talk about something that he didn’t want to talk just a few minutes ago. Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I’m going to tell you eventually… Just not _now_.”

“Alright, but you owe it to me,” Greg let it go, but still stood in the same place, now nodding at the bathtub so Sherlock could come first. He seemed to hesitate for a moment or two but after sighing he turned to enter in there. Greg let out a whimper of surprise when he saw the various patches that covered the younger’s back. “Sherlock!”

“I’ll tell you, I promise,” he said after some groaning. “Can you come here?”

Both of them settled inside the tub, chest against back.

Immediately Greg felt the hot water soothe his aching muscles and allowed himself to relax against Sherlock’s body. It felt good.

They were silent for a long time, Greg couldn’t help thinking about the moment he tried to commit suicide while he was in the same bathtub. His chest began to tighten.

He had filled it to the top that time too. He had drunk too much at a bar nearby and had returned at dawn with the decision already made. He would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about that quick exit months ago, when everything started to fall apart, but that exact moment had seemed the most appropriate in his drunk mind. Lestrade was a lonely man and he was sure that probably nobody would have noticed anything until after days of absence in NSY, but in his drunken state, he had thought it would be a good idea to leave this world with some of the music he enjoyed so much at four in the morning on a Wednesday. Obviously, the neighbors didn’t enjoy even a little of the Buzzcocks like him. By the time the ambulance had taken him away, Greg was already unconscious. He had been lucky, the nurse told him when he woke up in the bright white room, he only snorted in reply. _Lucky?_ he thought annoyed.

He would still think about his attempted suicide in that same tub a year ago if it wasn’t because his body had tensed completely when he felt Sherlock’s slender fingers take his arms, the tips of them tracing the lines of the thick scars that adorned now his arms.

He opened his eyes abruptly and whispered, “No more questions, please.”

The hands disappeared from the place immediately, but instead of leaving his body completely, the arms of the other man surrounded him in a hug and Greg allowed himself once more to relax, resting the back of his head on Sherlock’s shoulder.

“I missed this,” he murmured again and closed his eyes. Sherlock hummed in agreement on his side. “I missed _you_.”

So many years since the last time they had been together in a bathtub, though it was usually the other way around and it was Greg who was hugging Sherlock from behind and waiting for the tremors on his body to stop. So many things that had changed since then.

He knew he wouldn’t last long awake in that position, considering he had taken his meds and those used to knock him out in a matter of minutes normally, but then lips on the skin of his neck brought him back abruptly.

Greg thought that his heart had stopped for a moment, or wondered if he had fallen asleep while they were there, but then he noticed something that had apparently been unnoticed a few moments ago… something else had appeared in the lowered part of his back.

The small kissed continued on his skin, but now Greg’s breathing was clearly more agitated. The next thing that happened was Sherlock releasing him from his embrace to slide one of his hands slowly down Lestrade’s abdomen.

He got so nervous it almost stopped Greg from reacting in time, but he had managed to do so when Sherlock was on the way, taking both wrists, and guiding them back into his arms.

Behind him, Sherlock sighed, “I’m sorry,” he said softly.

Greg didn’t open his eyes this time.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, “it’s just… antidepressants aren’t exactly aphrodisiacs,” he huffed, trying to ease the tension that had formed between them.

Sherlock let out a sound of surprise, but didn’t say anything else.

They spent a few more pleasant minutes in silence until Greg couldn’t hide the yawns anymore.

“Ready to sleep?” Sherlock asked, that deep voice close to his ear.

“Mhm…” Greg agreed, wondering this time how uncomfortable they would feel the next day if they just slept there. It wasn’t such a good idea, after all, he reminded himself, so he added a simple, “Yeah.”

Greg got up from the tub to grab a towel and leave another ready for when Sherlock followed him, without saying anything else he went straight to his room to finish drying his body and put on his pajamas. It was not too long until Sherlock had approached him. Lestrade wasn’t sure what exactly got into him but he turned and took the other man by the chin, forcing him to look into his eyes. Lestrade really missed those eyes. He felt like the time around them had stopped as he held himself captive beneath that penetrating gaze. Leaning a little forward, he pushed his and Sherlock’s lips together, but not letting it last longer than that simple brush. He immediately tried to take a step back.

_What was he doing?!_

Sherlock had grabbed him by the arms and held him in the same place, expressionless.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what--" Greg lowered his head to avoid looking at him.

“Lestrade, you don’t have to apologize,” he said softly, then snorted. “I was the one who had an erection in the bathtub.”

Greg actually laughed at that, daring to look up at him again. “Do you still need a hand with that?” he asked joking, but Sherlock offered him a raised eyebrow and rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “Are you staying?”

Sherlock seemed to hesitate a moment but nodded when he let go of Greg’s arms.

“I can’t stay all night, though. I’ll wait till you fall asleep… I still have something to do.

“Thank you,” Greg nodded.

Lestrade went to turn off the lights in the living room, looking at the kitchen with resentment on the way. Normally that day he had to cook something for lunch the next day, but he was honestly too tired to think about any other thing than sleeping. He would worry about that tomorrow.

He returned to his bedroom to find an already dressed Sherlock Holmes standing at the side of the bed. Greg smiled at him. He had to get used to seeing the other man in front of him again, physically at last.

They lay on the bed, Greg under the blankets while Sherlock on top of them, but it didn’t take him a second to bring his body completely close to Lestrade’s. Even if there was a clothing barrier between them, Greg appreciated the closeness. He ended by resting his head on the other man’s chest while Sherlock put an arm around his shoulders.

It wouldn’t be long enough for Greg to fall asleep.

“I don’t want you to think you’re not important enough,” Sherlock whispered and Greg growled. He was about to complain but Sherlock continued, “Whatever happened a year ago… I don’t want to imagine a world without you again, not even for a second, Lestrade. You’re more important than you think… for me too. If I had come back here and know that you…”

“Sherlock…”

“You do matter. And you’re worth more than you think,” Sherlock’s voice was soft, but Greg felt inexplicably attacked. He let out a sigh as Sherlock spoke again, “But now I’m here, and I won’t let you feel that way again. I know there will still be bad days, but I will try to help you--"

“You don’t have to…”

“Lestrade, you helped me when I didn’t even want to accept that I really needed it. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be here today. Can’t you see it?”

Greg in response just settled in a little more comfortable position to be able to put an arm around Sherlock’s middle body.

“I don’t want you to leave,” he whispered against the other man’s chest.

“I still have to surprise Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock added mischievously, and Greg could imagine him smiling.

“Please don’t give the woman a heart attack,” Greg said before yawning.

“I won’t,” Sherlock was stroking Lestrade’s arm and he couldn’t deny that it was relaxing him even more. “I can come tomorrow.”

Lestrade nodded softly, feeling farther and farther from that place.

“I want you to tell me everything you did during these years,” he managed to say, the laziness of speaking began to beat him.

Sherlock kissed the top of his head.

“I will; I won’t hide anything from you, I promise.”

Greg nodded again, finally losing himself in the world of dreams. He was aware that Sherlock’s voice was still sounding at his side but he had already been unable to understand any word. The smile glued to his face.

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to add that I took the title from the song of the same name by The Killers :) And also, as I said I wrote this ages ago, and always had the headcanon that Lestrade loved the Buzzcocks, so after the singer died a few months ago I felt the urge to translate this story into English in his honor (?)
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading, and I'd love to know what you think of this!


End file.
